Untamed (41 page)

“I doubt flogging will be necessary.” William took another sip, let the amber liquid burn its way into his stomach. “I’m fairly certain I know where she is.”

“Then send for her at once.”

“With due respect, sir, I should like to go and get her myself.” It was as good a reason as William had ever had to see Lady Anne.

M
organ sat back against the wall of his cage, the heat stifling, his wrists and ankles once again in shackles. Sweat trickled down his chest, anger churning in his gut, sleep impossible. He’d never have imagined that this would go so far. He’d thought he’d answer Wentworth’s questions and be done with it. He hadn’t been prepared for Amherst’s determination to see him hang—or for Bourlamaque’s letter.

After being interrogated, he’d been placed in chains and brought here with nary a crust of bread or a blanket or even fresh straw. Then Wentworth had arrived with Dr. Blake, ordering the guards to unshackle Morgan and strip him naked so that Dr. Blake could examine him.

“Indeed, he was quite gravely wounded, my lord,” Dr. Blake had said, looking closely at the scars on Morgan’s chest and thigh. “Either wound in itself could easily have killed a man. If the wounds had festered, as I believe the one in his thigh did, he would have been at death’s door. One can see from the scars on his wrists and ankles that he was kept in chains for quite some time.”

Morgan had met Wentworth’s gaze, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Are you satisfied now?”

Wentworth had tossed him an apple, turned his back, and escorted Dr. Blake from the guardhouse.

But it wasn’t the indignity of being inspected like an animal that kept Morgan awake, nor even the prospect of being hanged. Instead it was Amherst and Wentworth’s plans for Amalie. They intended to find her, and when they did, they would question her, imprison her, and send her under military escort back to Fort Carillon, ignoring the bonds of marriage and using her like one of Wentworth’s pawns. If only Morgan could get word to Iain and warn him…

Chapter 28

A
malie watched in dismay as the johnnycake she’d been trying to flip fell into pieces, golden batter spreading across the bottom of the pan that Annie called a “skillet.” She gave an exasperated sigh and tried to do better with the next one, only to watch it do the same thing. If she’d been at the convent, someone would have scolded her, and a part of Amalie grew tense, waiting for the rebuke that would follow.

But Annie merely glanced into the skillet and smiled. “Dinnae be disheartened. ’Twas the same for me when I was first learnin’ to cook. I’d never made a meal or milked a cow or plucked a chicken afore I came here. A year from now, ’twill seem as if you’ve made johnnycakes all your life.”

Was this what it was like to have family—this easy forgiveness, this gentle friendship that asked nothing but gave so freely?

The tension ebbed away, and Amalie allowed herself to laugh. “I hope so.”

She’d tried her best to make herself useful in her new home, only to find that life in a convent hadn’t prepared her for the hard work of living on the frontier. She did not mind working hard and enjoyed feeling that she was helping Morgan’s family—
her
family. But at times she wondered if she wasn’t more of a burden than a help. And yet Annie and Iain had been most patient, encouraging her, supporting her, making her feel cherished and safe—making her feel that she belonged.

Annie had learned how to do this, and so would she.

She set the skillet back amongst the coals, careful to keep her hems out of the fire. “Do you miss your life in Scotland?”

Holding the baby in one arm, Annie set the crock of butter on the table, a small bowl of salt beside it. “If you’re askin’ whether I miss Scotland, aye, I do. I miss the heather and the mist and the scent of the sea. But I’d no’ trade my life wi’ Iain for the cosseted and empty life I once lived. And now wi’ you here, ’tis like havin’ a sister.”

Amalie met Annie’s gaze, saw the sincerity in her eyes, and couldn’t help but smile, warmth filling her breast, chasing away her fears. “
Oui,
so it is.”

As they finished cooking breakfast together—eggs, salted pork, and rather wretched johnnycakes with butter and molasses—the two of them talked with an easiness Amalie had never known with another woman, not even Sister Marie Louise.

And yet even as they spoke, her fears began to return, creeping like shadows from the dark corners of her mind. What if Morgan had been attacked on his way to the fort? What if his commander—that dreadful Wentworth—didn’t believe him? What if Wentworth flogged him as he’d done Iain?

Amalie had seen the scars on Iain’s back and had cringed to imagine how much pain he had endured. She could not bear to think of Morgan suffering such torment, alone and in chains once more. Oh, how she missed him! She missed his smile, the light in his blue eyes, the sound of his voice. She missed the manly scent of him, the strong feel of his arms around her, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear as she slept. She missed his touch, the heat of his kiss, the warmth of waking to feel him beside her.

It was hard to be so far from him, harder still not to know when she would see him again. And if the days were long, the nights were even longer, the hours stretching on, the bed cool and empty beside her, the night filled with—

“—breakfast is ready?”

Amalie realized she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts and that Annie had just asked her to do something. “I—I’m sorry, Annie. I was just thinking of Morgan…”

The sympathetic smile on Annie’s face told Amalie that she understood and took no offense. “You miss him.”

“Yes. And I’m afraid for him. It is so hard to wait.”

Annie shifted the baby to her other hip. “Aye, it is. Every time Iain was sent on a mission, I found myself countin’ the hours, prayin’ he’d be safe, prayin’ he’d come home again. ’Tis no’ easy bein’ the wife of a soldier.”

And Amalie realized Annie had been through this many more times than she. She took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “You must have been so happy when Wentworth released him.”

“Aye—and surprised. And yet I live each day afraid that Went-
worth will call Iain back into service.” Then Annie seemed to catch herself. “Listen to me complainin’ of my fears when Morgan—aye, and Connor, too—still risk their lives in battle. How selfish you must think me.”

“But no!” Amalie tried to reassure her. “It gives Morgan peace to know that Iain is out of the war and living here on the farm with you. He spoke of it to me. He spoke of his brothers often, and I—”

Then the door opened, and Iain stepped in, rifle in hand, the grim look on his face making Amalie’s stomach drop. “There’s a pillar of smoke against the sky to the north no’ far from Murphy’s place. ’Tis likely just a haycock caught fire in the sun, but I want to make certain it doesna spread. The two of you stay inside till I return, aye?”

He kissed Annie, gave Amalie a wink, and was gone.

W
illiam hid with his men amongst the trees down the road from the MacKinnon farm, watching from a distance as his former major set off to investigate the fire they’d set. As much as William enjoyed testing his wits against Iain MacKinnon, today’s confrontation was likely to turn to violence unless handled with care. MacKinnon would protect his brother’s wife as he did his own—with his rifle if necessary. And although William found the idea of a widowed Lady Anne appealing, he had to admit a grudging respect for MacKinnon.

The big Scot disappeared amongst the trees, and William knew the moment had arrived. He turned to his men, a group of eager officers, each picked for his absolute loyalty and skill. “Search the house, the barns, the privy, the fields, and the surrounding forest, but do nothing to harm Lady Anne or her child. When you find Miss Chauvenet, bring her to me unharmed. We haven’t much time, so be quick about it.”

William rode at the head of the column, reluctantly impressed by the farmstead that came into view. He’d been expecting a hovel with a small, weedy garden, not a large farmhouse and barns and well-tended fields. It appeared that the land yielded as readily to Iain MacKinnon as Lady Anne had done.

William had left Fort Edward as soon as he’d been able, riding until dark, then rising early again, hoping to ensure himself the element of surprise. Because Amherst had restricted the Rangers to their island, it was unlikely that they’d learned of his plans for Miss Chauvenet. But they would most certainly try to send someone to tell Iain MacKinnon of his brother’s imprisonment, which would put him on his guard.

As they drew near, the farmhouse door opened a crack—and quickly shut. And he knew that Lady Anne had seen them.

“M
ercy! ’Tis Lord William! Quickly, Amalie, we must hide you!”

Amalie stood, her breakfast forgotten, her heart thrumming as Annie barred the door and drew in the string. “Wh-where should I go?”

“This way!” A look of determination on her face, Annie led her into the back bedroom, laid little Iain in his cradle, then tried to push the heavy bedstead. “Help me move it! There’s a chamber hidden beneath the floor. You can bide here until Iain returns.”

Pushing with all their might, they moved the foot of the bedstead aside far enough to reveal most of the wooden floor beneath. Then Annie knelt down, stuck her finger into a knothole, and withdrew a bit of rope. With a tug, the floor came open to reveal gaping darkness beneath, the thick scent of damp earth drifting up from below.

“Hurry! There’s a ladder on the side!”

Little Iain began to wail.

Amalie had just climbed over the edge, her feet on the first rung, when it came to her. “But what about you and the baby? What if Wentworth has come for you?”

Annie shook her head. “He wouldna dare harm us. ’Tis likely he’s come for Iain, but if he sees you…”

Amalie’s heart tripped. “What would he do?”

“God only knows.”

From outside came the stamp of horses’ hooves, men’s voices, and the clatter of steel swords in sheaths.

Annie glanced over her shoulder, then met Amalie’s gaze, her green eyes filled with urgency. “Stay hidden, and dinnae fret about me! Iain will return soon. Now go!”

Amalie climbed down the ladder as Annie closed the trapdoor over her head, engulfing her in darkness. From above came the scrape of wood against wood as Annie struggled alone to push the bedstead into place. Barely able to breathe, Amalie waited.

W
illiam heard a baby’s crying, heard the heavy wooden bar lift, and watched as the door slowly opened, Lady Anne looking up at him in feigned surprise. She never had been skilled at lies or deception.

“Lady Anne.” He gave a little bow, unable to deny the surge of excitement he felt whenever he saw her.

“Lord William!” She glanced outside at the thirty men he’d brought with him, her cheeks pink from exertion, her long golden hair bound at her nape with a single pink ribbon. “Is augh’ amiss? Are Morgan and Connor—”

“Captain MacKinnon is well. Major MacKinnon is locked in the guardhouse and facing charges of treason. It is for his sake I’ve come. I’m here to take Miss Chauvenet back to Fort Edward. She may be the only one who can prove the major’s innocence and spare him the noose.”

It was the truth, though certainly not the whole truth, as he also hoped to use Miss Chauvenet to win freedom for two very important British officers.

Lady Anne’s eyes went wide, and she seemed to hesitate. “She’s wi’ Iain.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I do not believe you.” William stepped forward, nudged the toe of his boot inside the door. Then he turned to his men. “Be quick. Leave nothing unturned.”

She blocked the doorway. “Iain is no’ far from here. You must wait—!”

“I’ve not the time for that, I’m afraid.” William forced the door open, careful not to hurt her, then drew her aside as his men filed past, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

She tried to pull free of his grasp, anger on her lovely face, apparently unwilling to be held thus by him. “Would you deny my son his mother?”

From the back room, the baby wailed.

“Of course not, my lady.” William released her, watched her walk away, feeling oddly chastised. While soldiers stomped up and down the stairs, he glanced about and found himself in a small but tidy room that served as the farm’s kitchen as well as its sitting room, a rocking chair in one corner, a hand-carved table and chairs at its center, breakfast growing cold upon the table—three tin plates, three forks, three cups.

Aye, Miss Chauvenet was here.

Lieutenant Cooke stepped through the doorway. “We’ve searched the entire house, my lord. They found a woman’s gowns and another bedstead upstairs. They also found a hidden chamber beneath the barn floor, but it was empty. If she’s here, she’s very well concealed.”

William nodded, wondering whether perhaps the mademoiselle had fled out the back in pursuit of MacKinnon. “Search the house again and set a watch on the forest to alert us in case MacKinnon returns prematurely.”

“Aye, my lord.”

As Cooke disappeared to carry out his orders, William walked toward the back of the house, where he heard Lady Anne crooning to her child in Gaelic. He found her sitting on the edge of a large bed, the baby feeding hungrily at her breast, its little fists pressing against her creamy flesh, the sight both stirring and discomfiting. And then it dawned on him as he watched that this was the bed she shared with MacKinnon—an unpleasant realization. He glanced away.

Two soldiers entered the room and began to search, opening the wardrobe, checking inside Lady Anne’s trunks, looking beneath the bed.

She looked up at him, shifting uncomfortably, as if being seen by him and his soldiers with her gown opened distressed her. “Can I no’ be left in peace?”

He was about to order the soldiers to wait outside the door when he saw them—scratches on the wooden floor. The bed had been moved and not quite set back in place. And he knew.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your son to another room, my lady.” He turned to his men. “Beneath the bed you’ll find a hidden chamber like that in the barn. Unless I miss my guess, that’s where we’ll find Miss Chauvenet.”